


From One Bar To Another

by Fuguestate



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Gen, Gilmore and Rom get their respective geek on, Gilmore is pretty good at first contact, Into A Bar Challenge, Probably Crack, Rom is actually a decent ambassador, Rom is underrated, intra-universe shenanigans, shameless feel-good stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:21:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24860737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuguestate/pseuds/Fuguestate
Summary: "Got a weird one for you, Gilmore..."In which Gilmore experiences some intra-universal shenanigans.-For the intoabar challenge:  Shaun Gilmore goes into a bar and meets... Rom!(Small edits added 7-5-2020)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8
Collections: A Ficathon Goes Into A Bar





	From One Bar To Another

"Got a weird one for you, Gilmore."

"You're early this time, Jilora," Gilmore smiled as he carefully placed a new spell book in one of the store's many warded cases. "Not that I mind being graced with your company, but it's normally at least evening before something comes up."

Jilora Layas, a no-nonsense halfling woman and the owner of _The Laughing Lamia_ tavern, tilted her head in acknowledgement where she stood in the doorway of _Gilmore's Glorious Goods_. "Aye, that's true enough – though this time I had to completely shut the tavern, so I s'pose I should be glad it's early." She shuffled one foot with a quiet cough. "Might not be able to open tonight at all, depending."

Gilmore straightened and came out from behind the counter. "Well, now, we can't have _that_ … ale is practically the life-blood of a city, after all."

Jilora managed a slight smile at that, but sobered as she gathered her thoughts. "Seems to be a question of languages, at least to start. That, and the way he just sort of," she gestured vaguely, " _poofed_ into the middle of my bar outta nowhere, made me think you're the one to call, 'stead of the Guard."

Gilmore's smile slipped, his gaze sharpening. "Is anyone in danger?" He began reaching for things he should have on hand as he approached her.

"No, no… at least, dint' seem like it. Whatever this… fella… is, he doesn't seem interested in attacking anyone. I left 'im pretty much cowering behind a table with Salma 'n' Lorn keepin' watch once folks had been cleared out."

"Interesting…" One elegant brow lifted. Gilmore turned around to collect a few scrolls that might be useful, then quickly reached out to gather the tavern-keeper into a rapid walk with him toward her establishment. "I hope your assessment is correct, my dear, but let's make haste in the meantime, shall we?"  
  


*~*~*

Upon arrival, there seemed to be nothing amiss at the _Laughing Lamia_ – or at least there was an absence of explosions, screams, or other obvious signs of distress. Once inside, away from the midday sun, it took Gilmore a moment to focus on the tavern's unannounced visitor – though once he spotted him, he was immediately intrigued. Crouching in the back under makeshift guard as Jilora had indicated, the being was roughly humanoid, though by humanoid standards the skull was too bulbous, the teeth much more goblinoid, and the ears much larger proportionally than any being's that Gilmore had ever seen. They were dressed rather well, he noticed, favoring colors and patterns in their upper garments and head-piece that Gilmore couldn't help but admire. And for all that their mouth was a ferociously sharp tangle, they weren't using that as a threat at all. Their garb, and their guarded position behind the far table, spoke more of disorientation and at least basic intelligence than anything else.

Bracing himself a bit, Gilmore stepped forward, hands moving subtly in the beginnings of a cautionary spell (he believed in giving the benefit of the doubt, certainly, but blind trust did not make for a long life). As he did, however, Jilora's employees caught his gaze and moved to intercept with placating gestures.

"It's all right, Mr. Gilmore, sir," Salma spoke up, glancing between him and the stranger. "I dunno what's goin' on, but he understands us now."

"'Now'?" Gilmore repeated, tilting his head in question.

"Oh, yah," Lorn's drawl seconded. Gilmore remembered the half-orc from a few months ago, when he'd helped Jilora with some unruly rangers and landed himself a job at the tavern. He'd done well for himself, and Gilmore paid close attention as he continued. "He were sayin' gibberish to start, for sure, but when the boss went to fetch ye, Salma 'n' I had naught to do but try to figure between us what to do next. He din't do naught but watch us."

Salma nodded. She was human, and much smaller than Lorn, but no less intimidating when there was crowd control to be done. "We were both bein' quiet, but, well, y'know…" she gestured briefly to the stranger's large ears and shrugged. "We weren't talkin' but a few minutes when outta the blue he started asking questions plain as day."

"A magic user?" Gilmore asked her and the stranger both, cautiously grateful he wouldn't have to expend one of his scrolls to comprehend languages.

The odd being looked at him warily, head flinching away in a manner that resembled nothing so much as a dog cowering. "Uhhhhm…no?" The voice, low in timbre (male?), sounded fearful of giving the wrong answer.

Though the response spiked Gilmore's curiosity, the manner of delivery gave him a brief and dismaying insight into this person. Was this a refugee of some sort? He made a few mental adjustments, carefully crafting a smile, and shifted his posture into something more reassuring. "Well, then, friend, it looks like we have a conversation starter."

The stranger – fairly short, though still much taller than the tavern-keeper's halfling frame, peered carefully up at him. In the same hesitant manner, he asked, "Yyyou're, uhh, Gilmore?"

"I am." Gilmore let his smile widen and bowed slightly before gesturing in turn. "And you are?"

"Rom!" The name was barked with a straightened posture, almost as if this being was only accustomed to it being shouted. He subsided again, looking toward the tavern's occupants and back again. "They, uh. They said you could help me?"

Gilmore gave an eloquent shrug, though his eyes danced at the challenge ahead of him. "I can certainly try."  
  


*~*~*

With Gilmore there and her "guest" Rom being suddenly able to communicate, Jilora had cautiously decided to allow customers to return. She kept the public toward the front, and let Gilmore and their visitor keep their spot in the back, and hoped that nothing would explode in the meantime. Her patrons, for their part, got some interesting stories that night as they caught occasional glimpses of the tavern's inadvertent celebrity.

A quick round of detection spells brought little more information, though it utterly fascinated their guest. There were a few errant wisps of something that wasn't quite Conjuration, wasn't quite Wild magic, and faded before Gilmore could get more than a glimpse of it.

In spite of these setbacks, Gilmore was thoroughly appreciating this opportunity, potential dangers notwithstanding. Anyone who knew him knew that Shaun Gilmore absolutely _was_ a man prone to flights of fancy, and it had served him well through the years. (What were the Arcane Arts, after all, if not imagination harnessed?) Even so, as he began to question Rom, he found his mental boundaries being stretched quite a bit as they tried to puzzle out what happened, and it was difficult not to let his questions spin into ever-broader territory with every answer he got.

Rom, who identified himself as a Ferengi (and male, he confirmed), could only say that he'd been working – at his brother's bar, coincidentally enough – and that some sort of anomaly (with a name completely unknown to Gilmore) was in force, and Rom had been somehow caught up in it.

Listening to Rom's story, Gilmore learned that he was from a plane apparently bound by mechanical rather than magical laws of physics. That revelation alone resulted in a half-hour back-and-forth between them, each trying to imagine how that would even _work_. 

The essentials seemed to be similar enough: There were craftspeople who could make the basic necessities, and the basics of construction were similar… it was only past a certain scale that their worlds really diverged. They did have healers whose basic knowledge and methods sounded familiar, and they did use potions, of a sort, but they relied solely upon physical tools and machines to do their work - particularly where a cleric would have been called upon. Gods, surprisingly, seemed not to be present – or at least not in a way comparable to Exandria. Weapons were an even more bizarre topic that left Gilmore frankly (but quietly) terrified, though his brief descriptions of his own capabilities had Rom looking at least as rattled as Gilmore felt.

The interesting thing was, the place Rom was from didn't seem nearly as inclined to _use_ that weaponry as Gilmore would have expected. Rather than hearing of endless wars, Gilmore learned of a multitude of beings, and the casual acceptance of their existence (and potential for profit, apparently). Thanks to the Universal Translators that nearly everyone had…

"Wait… ' _Universal_ Translator'?"

Rom nodded with an utter lack of guile. "Uh-huh."

Gilmore leaned forward. "You're telling me you can speak _any_ language?"

"UhhmMostly? Given enough time, anyway – the more alien a language is, the longer it takes the translator subroutines to parse. Sometimes it glitches, depending on a, uhh, species' brainwaves, but for the most part it's pretty good. Aaand it's not so much that I'm speaking it as you're hearing it." He shrugged.

Gilmore's fingers steepled in front of him. "I understood _most_ of those words," he said slowly. His fingers pointed forward briefly, then his eyes narrowed in thought. " _If I begin speaking in Marquesian, how long does it take before you can understand me?_ "

Rom's head tilted in confusion.

" _Do I need to use certain words? Smaller words? Is repetition better, or should I use the largest vocabulary possible?_ "

He watched as comprehension dawned on Rom's face as to what he was doing, and for a good several minutes Gilmore simply soliloquized, using everything from the tavern's menu to a discussion of Emon's botanical gardens to simple nursery rhymes, until Rom finally nodded and said, now in perfect Marquesian, "Aha! Yep, I understand that too, now," and grinned.

"Fascinating," Gilmore marveled with not a little envy.

As it was, though, there were still concepts that required further translation than Rom's handy device was able to provide: The words "space station" required some clarification; "wormhole" was even more tricky, though it seemed similar to either plane-shifting or an extremely powerful teleportation spell, Gilmore wasn't sure.

He, in turn, had an equally interesting time explaining the physics of magic in this plane, though the fact that there were still more or less concrete rules governing it definitely helped. Overall, it seemed that their respective realities were at least similar in their basic structure, if not the functional niceties, and Rom was doing an impressive job of keeping up.

As they spoke, Gilmore quickly saw that Rom was actually very intelligent, with a quick mind for engineering that made Gilmore wonder what marvelous things he and Percy could do, given the chance. It was equally obvious, however, that Rom had next to no self-confidence, and Gilmore found himself wanting to have a… _conversation_ …with whomever was responsible for the low stammering that sporadically crept into Rom's speech. The only thing worse than wasted talent was crushed talent, in Gilmore's estimation, and he fervently hoped this poor fellow wouldn’t fall prey to either.

A sudden awareness of silence made Gilmore look up, and he realized with some chagrin that he and Rom were now the only patrons left in the bar; a last straggler was just stumbling upstairs to their room, and Jilora and the others were pointedly not staring in their direction as they tended to the cleaning up.

"Oh dear… we seem to have closed down the bar," Gilmore gave Rom a mock-conspiratory glance, glad when it prompted a shy grin in response. "Assuming you don't just spontaneously apparate back home, we should get you settled for the evening while we determine what to do next. I have room at my shop…"

"Actually, iiif it's all the same to you, I think I should stay here," Rom said uneasily. At Gilmore's questioning look, he went on, "I came _here_ ; I don't think I should go too far." He gulped, looking like he expected to be refused.

Gilmore nodded, though. "You're right – it's not good to go wandering if you're lost. And, as luck would have it, this _is_ a tavern, after all." He smiled, and turned toward the bar. "Jilora, my dear! Can you provide one of your excellent rooms for this fine gentleman?"

Jilora _thwapped_ her cleaning rag onto the bar with an amused snort and made her way over. " _Hmp_. Don't know about 'excellent', you sweet-talker, but I got a room. You want it on your tab?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Um!" Rom's posture straightened. "I… have…uh…" He briefly fumbled with a pocket, "do you take, uh, latinum?"

"'Lat'n-what?"

Gilmore was about to ask the same thing when Rom brought out a very small rectangular strip of what looked like gold, and held it up to explain. "Gold-pressed latinum. It's our currency back home."

"May I?" Gilmore reached out in curiosity. It was much heavier than gold, prompting him to try an Identify spell.

The result was… _interesting_ , to say the very least. He was able to confirm that the surrounding metal was indeed gold, but within it was… something else. Very few things could slip past his Identify spell, but this was apparently one of them. It _seemed_ to be metal, in liquid form, but that was the extent of what he could discern – save that it was reacting to the energy from the minor spell in a subtle and _extremely_ interesting way that he'd never experienced before. Small tendrils of power curled and drifted like candle smoke, whispering potential for enchantments, or shielding, or channeling, or...

Without even looking up from the piece of metal in his palm, Gilmore slowly drew out a large coin purse and handed the whole thing to a surprised Jilora. "If I may offer an exchange for this, dear lady - I would be… _most_ happy to sponsor this fine gentleman for whatever he needs during his stay. If that's all right with you, that is?" He glanced over to Rom.

"Uh, sure!" He considered a moment, then dug into his pocket again. "Siiince I don't know how long I'm here for…" He slowly brought out a few more pieces, and Gilmore was hard-pressed not to faint from happiness when Rom handed them to him with a hopeful grin. "My brother would say I'm crazy, but - you're probably my best shot at getting home, soooo, let's call it an investment."

*~*~*

The next few days saw Gilmore as a regular at _The Laughing Lamia_ , when he wasn't buried in his study.

He had tried to convince Rom to come with him, whether to try some test designed to detect Rom's home plane of existence, or just to get the poor fellow _out_ for even a few minutes, but Rom was adamant about staying right where he was, just in case. On the bright side (for the tavern, at any rate), Rom's capacity for languages and apparent experience quickly endeared him to Jilora and her crew, and Gilmore often found him bustling through the tavern keeping himself useful. 

For his own part, Gilmore busied himself trying to track down the source of the odd energies he'd detected on that first day, with some success. He'd been able to catch the faintest hint of them once more by directing magical energy into the gold-surrounded latinum pieces while in the tavern. If he could only isolate the metal somehow…

The glimpses he was getting with every attempt told him that Rom's instincts were quite good; there just needed to be a way of re-attracting whatever power had brought him here – preferably with as little danger and destruction as possible. It meant working more or less around the clock, contacting associates with odd questions and crafting orders, and making Jilora and his dear assistant Sherri both fret over him. But between them, they at least made sure he was well-fed, and visited at least once by a cleric friend of Sherri's who could keep Gilmore's exhaustion at bay.

"I don't deserve either of you magnificent ladies," he smiled as they (gently) forced him to take a break from his workbench early on the third day.

"Oh, pish," Jilora scoffed as she plunked a bowl of stew in front of him, scowling until he began to eat. "I dragged you into this in the first place, Gilmore, don't you go flattering me. Now eat that, or you'll hurt Lorn's feelings."

As Gilmore meekly obeyed, Sherri brought forth several small, spherical, intricately-worked frames woven from fine strands of gold and every last fragment of adamantium that Gilmore had been able to get his hands on. "The jeweler's shop just brought this over, and it looks like they followed your instructions perfectly – I hope this works."

"Ah, yes…" Gilmore set his spoon down (to Jilora's disapproval) and reached out to carefully inspect one of them with a delicate touch. "Sogil has definitely outdone herself – we'll have to see if it does what I hope it will—" He went to turn back toward his work, only to find his way blocked by his assistant and Jilora doing an impressive imitation of immovable objects.

" _Oh_ , no," Sherri deftly plucked the delicate frame from his hand, "You need to finish eating and get at least an hour's sleep, or you'll be of no use to anyone."

Before he could argue, Jilora drew up her tiny frame in mock menace. "Do I need to send Salma over t'sit on you?"

Arguments dying, Gilmore held his hands up in defeat. "I am overmatched," he sighed, resuming his seat and the cooling bowl of stew. Swallowing a bite (that really was delicious; he'd have to thank Lorn), he paused to smile at the two women. "Thank you both – I'll endeavor to be worthy of your attentions."

*~*~*  
  


A few hours later, a somewhat-rested Gilmore returned to the tavern with his equipment. It was late morning, and most of the patrons were gone for the day, but he could see that Rom was keeping busy. He stood with a large box-like structure, and was instructing a couple of Half-Orc workers (in Orc) how to assemble it in the back. It was interesting watching him – he was so much smaller, and so alien-looking, and yet while he was explaining what was obviously some creation of his, he stood with confidence and spoke to them with straightforward authority. They, in turn, showed none of the sullen aggression Gilmore had often seen from Orcs or those with their blood, but instead paid close attention and even offered smiling rejoinders in the conversation.

After a few minutes the workers headed into the back with their cargo, armed with several drawings that Rom gave to them, and Rom turned to greet Gilmore with a wave. "Any progress?"

"Hopefully good news," Gilmore briefly held up one of the components he'd been creating. "Want to lend me a hand?"

With Jilora's dubious blessing they began clearing a space around the spot where Rom had first appeared, shifting a few tables and benches. "So, what are those gentlemen working on?" Gilmore tilted his head toward Rom's small work crew.

"Oh, it's a refrigeration unit, of sorts – Jilora mentioned she was having trouble keeping some of her stuff fresh between deliveries a couple days ago, aaaand I got to thinking about it and I had an idea that would hook up to the tavern's well water in a self-propelled circulation system, and Salma said she knew a couple of folks who might be able to build what I was thinking of, soooo… Jilora's letting me try it. " He tapered off from his sudden enthusiastic burst with a slightly apologetic grin. "It's all set except the final water hookups."

"And you've secured some unusual friendships, too, by the look of it," Gilmore said as he handed Rom a set of small braziers to distribute.

"Oh, Burdhal and Ghok? They're great!" Rom enthused. "Salma introduced me and they were pretty intimidating at first – I mean, I've been around Klingons before, buuuuut it's still not easy! Once I realized Ghok was having trouble pronouncing some Common words, I said I could learn Orc if they wanted to speak that instead. Salma had to tell them I wasn't making fun of them – thaaaat, waaaaas, close!" he shuddered for a moment, "but it really didn't take too long before the 'Translator picked it up. Things went a _lot_ more smoothly from there – we bonded over our teeth!" Rom grinned widely, and Gilmore realized with a pang just what his new friend had accomplished.

"Of course…" Gilmore mused. "I'd never thought about it that way, but – you're not really speaking Common right now, are you?"

"Nope," Rom agreed, "You're just hearing it."

Gilmore spent a thoughtful moment just looking into the middle distance. "How very silly – and how awful – would it be, if the root of a conflict between peoples was based on one side being unable to pronounce another's words--?" He looked down to Rom, wondering for the thousandth time what it must be like to take the presence of such a wide array of intelligent beings for granted. "You can do in minutes what it takes years to master here, and that's including the 'shortcuts'." He twiddled his fingers ironically for emphasis.

"Weellll, only with the right gadgets," Rom shrugged. "Without that, I'm pretty useless!"

"My dear sir, you are nothing of the sort!" Gilmore placed an arm around his shoulders, steering him to look toward the back room where Rom's new friends were clearly making progress. "You have a gift for invention, _and_ you can communicate it to others – you'd be surprised how rare that combination is." He smiled down at Rom, but his words were completely serious. "Be proud of your gifts, Rom."

Rom looked sidelong up at him. "You sound like Leeta – she's always telling me not to put myself down."

"Leeta?" Gilmore asked with a raised eyebrow, and Rom's bashful half-smile told him everything. "She sounds very wise," Gilmore nodded in approval, and turned back to his preparations. "And if we're extremely lucky, you'll be seeing her again very soon." He carefully held up one of the wirework frames he'd had built, which now contained a few liquid drops of something metallic and shimmering floating weightlessly within it.

Rom's eyes widened. "Is that--?"

"Your latinum," Gilmore confirmed. "Among a myriad of other compelling possibilities, it seems that this metal has the capacity to… 'call' to your plane of existence, in a way. At least," he allowed, "it makes the traces from your arrival much easier to detect, and perhaps channel. I'm actually rather counting on there being someone on your plane who's trying to reach you, and directing our efforts here toward making you as…'visible'… as possible. A lighthouse, of sorts."

"That's amazing!"

"Well, not _yet_ …" Gilmore managed a wink through his fatigue, "though that's certainly my goal, at all times. Now, we need to place these at equal points, here…"

They worked quickly, Rom helping to place components while Gilmore took out a piece of chalk and carefully inscribed the bare bones of a teleportation circle. It wouldn't be enough to actually allow transport on this plane, he explained to both Rom and a worried Jilora, but might – he hoped – give enough of a framework for the latinum foci he'd assembled to work together as a unit.

"You're not gonna blow up the tavern?" Jilora was joking, but only just.

Gilmore bent in a deliberately-more-formal-than-necessary bow. "My dear lady, that is furthest from my intentions. And if I do, I will take full responsibility."

He received a _hmph_ from her in response, but she was grinning. "Just do it right, you two, so we can make it a selling point telling the story." With that benediction, she turned to observe Burdhal and Ghok's work in the relative safety of the back.

Rom continued working with Gilmore for another hour or so, then stepped back when his part was done to let Gilmore finish. As he waited, a victorious cry came from the kitchen and he was briefly surrounded by his newfound friends as the center of a small celebration for the new cooling equipment happily whirring with its water supply.

Gilmore smiled, letting their happy noise wash over him as he made a few finishing touches and then rose to join them. "Congratulations – I'm hoping that's an indication of things to come in our efforts!"

"Aw, I didn't do much," Rom began, but got a good-natured elbow from Salma before he could get any farther.

"You were brilliant, ya goof."

Jilora reached up to clap him on the shoulder. "Likely gonna save me twenty percent on food, assumin' we don’t wind up a crater gettin' you home."

Gilmore couldn't help but laugh. "On that ringing note of confidence – shall we see what we can do?"

All looked to him – Jilora, her employees, and the two workers Rom had befriended – and then looked to each other, uncertain. "Should we…go?" asked Ghok.

"Or stay?" said Lorn.

Gilmore considered carefully, gauging the risks. "I think… if you want, that is – it should be all right to stay. The energies we're dealing with on our end are fairly faint; just stay well clear of the circle, just in case, and it should be fine."

With cautious hope, the group stepped around to see as Rom stood where Gilmore indicated just outside the circle. Carefully Gilmore reached down to make a final mark with the chalk, and the circle gave a brief pulse at its completion.

"So far, so good…" Gilmore took a moment to gather himself, took a deep breath, and began a whispered incantation with hands outstretched. One by one, the latinum foci rose, their contents glowing softly as Gilmore's words continued. As the group watched, faint smoke-like wisps emanated from them to form a ring that was dim, but steady.

A moment passed. Two. More… Rom and the others looked briefly at each other, wondering, but not wanting to break Gilmore's concentration.

Suddenly the foci flared again, forming a lattice of new connections within the ring, and with a sputtering flare, there was suddenly… _elsewhere_ before them all.

In an instant, Gilmore's mind made out reds and golds, a room of metal and glass that held a large handful of people. Several, dressed alike, were frowning at small boxes held in their hands, while a few held up odd-shaped devices chattering in unknown jargon to one another. Most looked human, or half-elven; one figure was gray and rotund, with a large frog-like mouth. Two looked and dressed like Rom, and Gilmore had to tamp down elation that he'd succeeded for fear of breaking his concentration. He watched as one humanoid woman – fine-featured with a bright dress and curling short hair – looked into the tavern and shouted, " _Rom!_ "

"Leeta!" Rom's grin was huge, and he took a step forward. Quickly, though, he turned back to the others in the tavern, searching for words. "Thank you, soooo much. I—"

"We _know_ , silly," Jilora patted his arm, with Salma and Lorn quickly following suit. "Get _going_!"

Rom paused as he came abreast of Gilmore, taking a deep breath and only managing, "…thanks," as his eyes welled a bit.

Gilmore met his eyes with a breathless laugh. "Farewell, Rom – it's been _glorious_."

Rom beamed, and ran toward his home plane, turning quickly to point at the drawings Burdhal held and shout "Patent that!" before reaching to take Leeta's hands and rejoin his people.

There was enough time for Gilmore to summon his winningest smile and a wave to the small crowd surrounding Rom, and the spell was gone.

A long moment of silence passed, before Jilora stepped forward. "Gilmore, you brilliant ninny, sit before you fall."

He honestly tried to follow her instructions, however backhandedly given, but found himself needing the assistance offered by the others in order to simply _move_. With Lorn and Ghok's help, he made it to a bench and the others sat to loosely surround him, everyone sagging a little in the aftermath.

For a while they just stared at one another, absorbing their experience. Then Salma rose, walking with purpose to the bar. "Screw it – I think we all need a drink. I'm buyin'."

"No, yer not –" Jilora countered from where her head rested in her hand, "you've all earned it."

"You're the boss."

"Damn right I am." She reached over, placing a hand over Gilmore's. "Thank you," she said, completely serious. "That was… _beyond_ above and beyond."

Gilmore shook his head, smiling. "Not at all, my dear. This was quite the adventure, with so many opportunities for the future!" He looked toward Burdhal and Grok, thinking of the insights he'd gained, and thought of the tiny fragments of latinum still suspended in their frames.

"Making new friends is always worthwhile."

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> I was thrilled to get this combo when the challenge was assigned - I only hope I did these two justice!  
> (Also: Plot holes? What plot holes? No plot holes to be seen here... _~*smokebomb!*~_ )


End file.
